"RETURN, O SHULAMITE!"
Almost the first person that Gaston recognised in London was Cluny Vosse. He had been to Victoria Station to see a friend off by the train, and as he was leaving, Gaston and he recognised each other. The lad's greeting was a little shy until he saw that Gaston was cool and composed as usual —in effect, nothing had happened. Cluny was delighted, and opened his mind:
"They'd kicked up a deuce of a row in the papers, and there'd been no end of talk; but he didn't see what all the babble was about, and he'd said so again and again to Lady Dargan."
"And Lady Dargan, Cluny?" asked Gaston quietly. Cluny could not be dishonest, though he would try hard not to say painful things.
"Well, she was a bit fierce at first—she's a woman, you know; but afterwards she went like a baby; cried, and wouldn't stay at Cannes any longer: so we're back in town. We're going down to the country, though, to-morrow or next day."
"Do you think I had better call, Cluny?" Gaston ventured suggestively.
"Yes, yes, of course," Cluny replied, with great eagerness, as if to justify the matter to himself. Gaston smiled, said that he might,— he was only in town for a few days, and dropped Cluny in Pall Mall. Cluny came running back.
"I say, Belward, things'll come around just as they were before, won't they? You're going to cut in, and not let 'em walk on you?"
"Yes, I'm 'going to cut in,' Cluny boy." Cluny brightened.
"And of course it isn't all over with Delia, is it?" He blushed.